The One Cliche That Never Gets Old
by Tomato Of Liberty
Summary: Hormones, homework, and hell are all things associated with the dreaded time in life known as high school. Another thing associated with high school is prom, and for Romano, it could spell his end. Spain/Romano Gakuen AU, along with Holland/Belgium


At last, I've updated! I haven't posted anything in a while, sorry to anyone who actually reads and cares about my stuff. Oh, well! In brighter news, this is a chaptered fic I'm pretty damn sure I'm gonna finish! Finally! Yup. So... enjoy!

Warnings: Incest, homosexuality, and personified nations. But, then again, if that's not your cup of tea, what're you doing looking at Hetalia fanfics, anyway?

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**The One Cliche That Never Gets Old**

**Chapter One**

It was during the middle of history class that Romano felt his phone vibrate in his pocket.

Quickly clapping his hand against the fabric of his pants in an attempt to stifle the noise, the Italian was highly grateful that his seat was near the back of the classroom, thus lessening the chances of being heard and having his phone confiscated.

With a snarl, he whipped his mobile out of his pocket and flipped it open, giving a huff of annoyance as he read that the new message was from Spain (or, as he was labeled on his phone, 'The Tomato Bastard') – who happened to be sitting just across the room.

Rolling his eyes at the Spaniard's idiocy, Romano pressed the button to open the message, eyes scanning the screen, which read:

_Lovinito, guess what~? \(^w^)/_

Gritting his teeth with rage, Lovino snapped his head up to scan the rows for the author of the text, spotting him immediately. God, how obvious could he be? He had his hands jammed in his desk and his head at a 90 degree angle, the obvious position one used whilst trying to disguise the action of texting from a teacher's wandering eyes. What an idiot. At least Romano was discreet. And why'd he have to use that damned annoying nickname, anyway?

Hitting 'Reply', he quickly tapped out,

_What the hell do you want, damn it?_

He looked up once he was finished, watching to see if Antonio had received the message and if he was going to reply. His question was answered as his phone buzzed again, and he read,

_Hi. C: 3_

Trembling with fury, Lovino's hands were clutching his cell phone so tightly he was sure it would soon splinter into pieces, his teeth grinding so powerfully it felt as though they were turning to dust. That… fucking… IDIOT! Why risk getting caught _wasting_ two perfectly good texts just to say _hi? _Really, 'hi', of all things? A-and why the damn heart? Actually, why the stupid emotes in the first place?

Hurriedly typing out a response, fingers hitting the keys so unnecessarily hard it hurt, Romano sent,

_What the /fuck/ is wrong with you, you dumb bastard?_

With a snort, he slammed his phone shut and shot a dangerous glare towards the Spaniard a few rows away, even though without eyes in the back of his head, Antonio wouldn't have seen it. Not long after, his cell gave another vibrate, and he read,

_D: Aw, Lovi, don't be like that~! I really do have something to tell you, though~! o3o  
_

Groaning with exasperation, the Italian closed his phone and jammed it back in his pocket, unwilling to waste time and energy in composing a response just to spite him. Why give the idiot another opportunity to piss him off? It was probably something stupid, anyway. But… even so, Romano's curiosity was piqued, if only slightly. Eh, whatever. It'd be more fun to watch the fish struggle on the line.

Resting his chin upon his arms, folded neatly upon his desk, Lovino fixed his gaze upon the Spaniard, a dark smile on his face, waiting for the reaction he assumed would arrive very soon. It was obvious that Spain expected a response, an inquiry as to what it was he had to say, and the fact that he wasn't getting one was sure to distress him.

Almost immediately, Antonio let out a hardly subtle "Ehh~?" of confusion and concern, his head retracting with surprise from the phone in his hands. Romano chuckled quietly to himself as the Spaniard began to fret, quiet whimpers of worry escaping him as he peered curiously at his phone, tilting himself from side to side and waving it in the air as though the Italian's non-existent message was a butterfly and his cell a net.

A few moments later, however, he noticed the Spaniard calming himself, and almost immediately after his show was ended, his phone vibrated. Growling, he flipped it open, and grudgingly read,

_Lovi, why didn't you reply? \(TTATT)/ I got so worried~! I just wanted to know if you planned on going to the prom on Saturday~!_

Now, _that_ caught Lovino's attention. His eyes widened and he very nearly dropped his phone as his vision glazed over and he stared off into space with shock. His mind began to race as all possible reasons for Spain to ask him that particular question shot through his consciousness.

Wh-why would the tomato bastard want to know, anyway? I mean, usually, when someone asked you that, it was because they wanted to go with you! D-did that mean that Antonio wanted to go to the _prom_ with him? Oh, God, oh, dear God, this was _not_ happening, Spain did _not_ just ask him to the prom…

If anything spectacular happened throughout the duration of the rest of the class, Romano wouldn't have seen it. The only thing that phased him was the bell ringing for lunch, and even then, it took an accidental jolt on the shoulder by one of his classmates to bring him out of his reverie.

He had been staring blankly at the front of the room, seemingly paying rapt attention to what the teacher had to say, but the truth was that Lovino was somewhere else entirely. All he could think about was Antonio, and as furious as he would have been with himself under any other circumstances in which that happened – n-not to say that it happened often, or anything – he decided that he really couldn't blame himself as of now. How could you _not_ think about the person who had practically just asked you to prom, especially if it was _another guy_?

He made his way slowly to the cafeteria, taking extra time at his locker to get his lunch. He had expected Spain to intercept him somewhere along the way, probably to enquire about the two remaining texts that had gone unanswered – after Romano's reluctance to respond to the inquiry about the prom, Antonio had done the sensible thing and left him alone, having given up hope – but was pleasantly surprised at his solitude.

However, walking into the cafeteria, the din of clamoring students wrapping around him like a terribly uncomfortable blanket, Lovino quickly discovered what it was that kept Spain away from him – Belgium had probably dragged him downstairs as quickly as possible so as to reserve good seats.

The moment he walked in, sticking out like a sore thumb, seeing as how there were no crowds to hide within, since everyone was already downstairs, Belgium gave a congenial wave and gestured for Lovino to come over. Antonio's reaction, however, was to burst clumsily up with a clatter of plates and silverware, bang his knee on the bottom of the table, then scramble over to Romano as quickly as he could, limping slightly, and fling his arms around the Italian's neck with a cry of, "Oh, Lovi, there you are! I was so worried~!"

Immediately, Lovino stiffened, heat crawling up to his face and his upper extremities for some unexplainable reason. Why…? Why is it that any time Spain touched him, he got all warm like this…? It didn't make any sense, and, plus, it was especially annoying, for every time he blushed, the tomato bastard had to make _some_ comment about how '_cute_' it was. It was sickening, but, for whatever reason, made Romano's heart race. It was for this exact reason that he despised it so.

"Get _off_ of me, you bastard!" He snarled, shoving the Spaniard away with a huff and folding his arms over his chest, lunch banging painfully against his side. Antonio stumbled away a few steps, pouting, but it was swiftly replaced by that trademark annoying grin as he wound an arm congenially around Lovino's waist and began leading him unwillingly toward the table they shared with Belgium, saying, "Aw, Lovi, don't be like that! Am I not allowed to worry …? You know I care about you!"

"G-god damn it, shut _up_!" Romano hissed, blushing darker at the other's comment as he slapped him on the shoulder before sitting down. Watching the spectacle, Belgium giggled before taking a bite of her salad, gesturing towards the Italian with her fork as she spoke, mouth full of lettuce and dressing, "It's your fault, you know. Toni's told me all about how you didn't respond to his texts, and then with you being late for lunch and all, how could he not worry?" She swallowed and gave a grin before taking a sip of her Diet Coke.

Lovino trembled with embarrassment and fury, while next to him, Antonio began to croon in response to Belgium's explanation.

"It was terrible, Lovinito, you have no idea! I was so scared when you didn't reply! I thought something might have happened! And then, when you didn't come to lunch, oh, I didn't know what to do!" Spain wailed, once more wrapping his arms around the Italian's middle as though fearful of the other's disappearance. Immediately, Romano felt that damned familiar warmth rise within him, and he reflexively shrieked, "D-didn't you hear me when I said 'get off', you fucking bastard?"

Belgium laughed at her two friend's antics, pausing to take another swig of soda before saying, "It really _was_ terrible! I had a hard time keeping this guy from going to see if you were in the nurse's office!"

At the blond's words, Romano stopped in his struggle to pry the sobbing Spaniard from his waist (to no avail) to look inquiringly at his female friend, leaving Antonio to nuzzle protectively into his torso, eliciting a low noise in the back of his throat, coupled with a shudder. God, did the air conditioning break…? Cheap-ass school, it was too hot in here to be healthy…

"H-he wanted to go to the… nn… _nurse's_ office…?" Lovino questioned, his sentence punctuated by exasperated gasps at the feel of Spain snuggling his stomach like a puppy. "Get _off_…!" He hissed, attempting another shove by winding his hand within the other's brown locks – they felt softer than they looked, to his surprise – no, no, _NO! _He did _not_ just think that thought! – and pushing, gaining absolutely no ground in the battle. Oh, God, it was so hot, but the question was, _why_? Did the school just cut off air conditioning funds entirely, or was there something wrong with him? Maybe he really was sick, like Antonio thought, or maybe it was – no, no, he refused to believe that those… th-that breath, fleeting and warm, ghosting over him, and, _Jesus_, why did this feel good? There was absolutely _no_ way that it was _Antonio_ doing all this to him… was there? No, of course not. The notion itself was ridiculous.

Belgium watched amusedly, her chin resting atop her folded fists. "Yup. He kept going on and on about 'his Lovinito'… I'm sure that he would have stayed by your side for as long as possible if it turned out you really were sick." She chuckled, taking another bite of salad.

"It's true, Lovi, every word of it! If you were sick I would have done everything I could to make you feel better!" Antonio whimpered from within his sanctuary of Romano's torso, giving another snuggle as though to emphasize his point.

Now, Lovino was taken aback for several reasons. For one, just the idea that Spain would go to such lengths to see him feeling well, the fact that he was so concerned… it was… why did that make his heart beat so much, damn it? It… it wasn't like he _cared_ what the Spaniard thought about him, or anything, it was just… just…! Ugh.

However, any semblance of enjoyment at knowing this fact was quickly overshadowed by annoyance, because, God damn it, did the tomato bastard _always_ have to use that fucking nickname? He claimed it was 'cute, just like Lovi~!' but_ that _was just plain wrong on so many levels! First off, men can't be 'cute', and they certainly shouldn't call other men that! Secondly, Romano saw himself as being far from 'cute', not even handsome – he didn't even deserve such a compliment. Of course, he had his younger brother to blame for that, whom he felt was superior in every way, but, hey, Spain didn't seem to think that… that counted for something, right? No, no, it didn't, it couldn't! The bastard's opinion was worthless, even if it did make Romano feel even warmer, if that was possible.

Oh, God, every time he moved, it was like wildfire, and – _Jesus fucking Christ_, did Antonio just kiss his stomach? Oh, God, oh, God, Romano swore he could feel hands sliding the fabric of his shirt farther up his torso, lips grazing against his skin, hot and needy, and, _oh, God,_ he would have to ask the principal to do something about that fucking air conditioner.

Gasping for breath, his face flushed, Lovino tightened his grip upon the Spaniard's hair and managed to hiss, "Get _off_ of me, damn it…!" This time, however, he succeeded in his efforts, and Antonio was forced back rather roughly, pouting adorably – no, no! Nothing that bastard did was adorable, or even enjoyable! God damn it, Romano, pull yourself together!

The Italian quickly glanced down to check himself, see if his shirt was pushed up to his chest like he had imagined, if lips really had granted his stomach with their presence… To his surprise, he saw nothing of the sort, simply the collared shirt he wore, albeit a bit rumpled. Breathing heavily, he straightened it out, giving a huff and grumbling, "W-well, idiot, you overreacted. I-I was perfectly fine… don't jump to conclusions, bastard."

Given all that had just happened, Lovino's mind was reeling, his heart pounding loud and hard within his ears, and that _fucking blush_ would _not_ go away. Biting his lip in exasperation, the Italian folded his arms tightly over his chest, squeezing himself as though trying to calm his heart down.

Jesus, what the hell had just happened? Rather, what had happened and what hadn't happened? Had he just imagined all that, the lips and the hands…? Oh, God, those fucking hands… he could still feel his lower back trembling from the lingering touches granted upon it, be they real or imagined, and God, if they only went _lower_…

_NO! _No, no, no, just… fucking _no_! He was _not_ thinking that way about Antonio, he never had, and he never would! That was just… it was just… um… w-well, whenever you got too hot, you… hallucinated, yeah, that had to be it! And… er… wait. Why was he hot in the first place? Oh, yeah, broken air conditioner, right. It couldn't possibly be because Spain had his arms around him, face buried within his torso, lips so tantalizingly close, oh, God, so fucking _close_ he could feel his breath, tendrils of heat stealing across him and just making everything else seem worthless compared to _this_… No! Th-that wasn't it at all…! He just… th-that Spanish bastard was just too damn good at making him warm because… because… body heat! Yeah, yeah, Antonio's internal temperature had to be higher than everyone else's, that explained why he was so hot!

Oh, God, did he _really_ just think of something that cheesy? A-and so _false_, too! It was a sin to lie, and he seemed to be on a lying spree here! Antonio was _far_ from attractive, especially to Romano, who shouldn't even be thinking of those sorts of things, seeing as how they were both male… but he seemed to be doing it anyway. Oh, God, there really _was_ something wrong with him, wasn't there? Guess that meant Spain would have to tend to him, then… stay by his side until he was well, with that damned gorgeous smile, and the beautiful eyes and just perfect _everything_, their hands occasionally meeting, brushing against each other, fingers intertwining, gazes locking as their lips drew ever nearer…

No! No, no, no! Just… stop it, Romano, stop it! Stop it _now_! You're going insane with all of this, just… this is unhealthy, just… stop! Phew. Alright. _Really_ need to ask about that air conditioning. This was certainly not good for him. Okay. Mind cleared, no thoughts of Antonio, no thoughts of anything related to him. Just… remember to breathe. In, out, inhale, exhale. Now… focus. What had been going on? Who had said what? How long had it been since he had last spoken? Oh, God, they probably thought he was crazy, there was something wrong with him – oh, wait. There was, and that happened to be everything.

Jolted out of his reverie by Belgium's sudden giggle, Romano's gaze snapped over to her as he realized, yes, there was a conversation occurring, and he happened to be a part of it.

"Toni, darling, you're too sweet for your own good. Really, you are." She said with a smile, chomping into a leaf of lettuce.

"Not at all! I'm only being honest. If my Lovinito's hurt even the tiniest bit, it's no overreaction for me to want to make him feel better~! After all, Lovi's my most favorite person in the world~!" Spain trilled, returning the grin as he casually ran a finger along the Italian's curl.

Immediately, Romano struggled to force back a moan. Jesus Christ, give him _some_ warning! Did Antonio even know what the fuck it was he was _doing_?

"A-ah… nn… o-oh…" Several indistinguishable noises escaped him throughout the duration of the Spaniard's touch, and his fists clenched themselves tightly, almost painfully, his head reeling. However, neither of his friends appeared to notice the strife he went through, despite his twitching and writhing and the fact that everything he had felt earlier, still not dissipated entirely, was now increased tenfold.

Once Antonio's hand left him, however, much to Lovino's relief, he was then encountered with a different problem, an equally annoying one, but for a slightly different reason.

"Hm?" Spain mused, tilting his head as he stared curiously at Romano's face, dampened slightly with sweat – fucking air conditioners – as he gasped for breath. "Lovinito, are you okay…?" He questioned concernedly, raising a hand to brush away a few strands of dark hair before pressing his palm to the Italian's forehead, eliciting a shudder and a whine. Damn it, why was it that he insisted on _always_ touching him in some way, shape, or form? Was it just his life's goal to make his heart beat so hard it felt like it would burst?

"You feel really hot… do you have a fever?" Antonio cried, immediately beginning to fret.

"Ah! W-we've got to get you to the nurse's office, _now_! Oh, Lovi, please don't be sick, I can't stand to see you sick!" He wailed, trapping Romano in another hug, a hand winding itself into his hair and holding him close. Eyes widening with surprise at the action, the Italian's arms lay uselessly at his sides, his body focused entirely upon making sure his heart didn't explode. God, he was sure Spain could feel it, it was beating so heavily.

"Uh, Toni…" Belgium noted amusedly, pointing a painted fingernail at Lovino's face with a cheeky smile. "I don't think it's because he's sick…"

Immediately, Antonio pulled away, though his hands still remained tightly clasping Romano's shoulders, his expression one of curiosity.

"Hm? Then what is it…?" He questioned, tilting his head and examining the other thoroughly. Romano glared back, eyes narrowed with rage. How dare he? How dare he make all of this worse, the bastard? God…

"He's blushing~!" Belgium trilled, her voice taking on a sing-song quality as she harshly poked the Italian's flushed cheek, eliciting a cry of objection.

Oh, God.

Lovino watched in terror as Spain's eyes lit up with glee, his smile widening until it seemed to dominate his entire face, glowing with sheer, uncontained happiness.

"Oh, _Lovinito_~!" He cried. "My little tomato! You're so _cute_~!"

That word.

That one. _FUCKING._ Word.

'Cute'.

That word was surely the bane of Romano's existence – save for Spain, of course. It angered him in ways that nothing else could even begin to be compared to – except Spain, obviously. Well, seeing as Antonio was usually the one using that tainted word, it all seemed to even out, but, regardless, that word was enough to send Lovino into cataclysms of rage unmatched by even the wrath of a woman scorned like that which hell hath no.

As soon as it disgraced his ears with its presence, the symptoms started. He flinched, body stiffening as though paralyzed. His eyes widened for an instant in shock before narrowing, one of them setting off on a twitch. His fingers mimicked the action, as though having forgotten how to form fists and scrambling to remember. His heart pounded loudly in his ears, though not from embarrassment, but from rage, sheer, uncontained rage.

And then… it started.

"God fucking damn it, Spain! Do _not_ call me 'Lovinito', do _not_ call me your little tomato, and for the love of fucking God and all that is holy, do _NOT_ call me _CUTE!_" He screamed, face darkening even more with fury as he resisted all urges to grab the Spaniard by the neck and throttle him.

His anger, however, went unrecognized, for all the bastard did – the fucking _nerve_ he had was astounding – was clasp his hands together and swoon, "Ahh~! You're so cute, my Lovinito~!"

Alright. This was the last straw, Romano was sure of it. The filter between his brain and his mouth got tossed aside as every foul word he could think of, with varying degrees of disrespect, poured from his mouth like water from a firehose, directed entirely at that damned annoying, damned idiotic, damned… just plain _damned_ Spaniard before him.

Antonio, however, took the abuse with a smile, the other's efforts at dealing a few punches to his shoulders failing miserably in their efforts to elicit pain. He waited patiently for the Italian's fuse to reach its end, which happened with shocking rapidity, though you could say that was Lovino's fault – his vocabulary, extensive though it was, was depleted with record speed only because he had gotten it all out so fast. Oh, well. Just as long as the message got across.

Which… it… apparently… _hadn't?_ What the hell? Ugh, whatever. Romano gave up. Just… gave up entirely. Huffing exasperatedly, he turned away from the man he hated, lips forming a pout as he folded his arms over his chest, sizzling with anger.

"I fucking hate you, damn it." He grumbled, eyes darting across the table for an instant to Belgium, who was watching with intent interest.

"Well," Antonio said matter-of-factly, "I don't hate you, not one bit~!" Giving the Italian a brief pat on the head, he returned to his lunch of leftover rice. Snarling at the dog-like treatment he received, Romano hissed, "Like I care, you bastard…"

Now, anyone unused to this sort of situation would have left it alone entirely, perhaps even left, but, Belgium, having known the two boys for quite some time, continued the conversation quite pleasantly.

"So, Toni, you going to prom this weekend?" She questioned, causing Romano's head to turn unwillingly towards her in mild curiosity. I mean, it wasn't like he cared if the tomato bastard went or not – either way, he was definitely staying home.

"Eh? Oh, yeah!" Spain cried, dropping his fork with surprise at having apparently remembered something. "That reminds me! Lovi, you never answered my question! You're going to prom, right?"

Shuddering with rage, Romano spoke through gritted teeth, "No, I am _not_ going to that stupid prom." Of course, the other's comment sparked up another tendril of warmth to sneak its way onto his face, much to the Italian's annoyance. Damn it, quit thinking about that! He did _not_ just ask you to go to prom with him!

"Aw! But… but…!" Antonio and Belgium cried simultaneously, eyes wide with horror, as though the sheer notion of not going to prom was blasphemous. Romano scoffed, giving a roll of his eyes, and spat, "What does it matter to you, damn it?"

"But, Lovino~!" Spain cried, obviously upset, his voice lilted with pleading. "You can't skip out on _prom_!"

"Yeah, it's, like, a once in a lifetime experience!" Belgium added, giving the Spaniard a triumphant nod. There was no way Romano could refuse _that_!

"Still not going." He responded aggravatedly, shooting a glare towards his two friends – n-no, that bastard wasn't his friend! Ugh. Whatever. Friend and… annoyance. Yeah, that worked.

"But, but, but, but…!" Antonio stammered, eyes prepared to leak with sadness as he gazed pitifully at the Italian. "You… you just can't… Oh, Lovi, you _have_ to go! Please?" Oh, great, now the begging had started. How did he know this was going to happen?

"Yeah, Lovino, _please_? It'll be no fun without you! We'll both be really sad…" Belgium pleaded, attempting to use the emotional side of things in order to sway Romano further. Nope, not gonna work, nuh-uh.

"Pft, as if. I'm still not going, no matter what you idiots say." He spat, turning away with a dignified huff, as though that settled the matter entirely.

"B-but… Lovinito…" Spain whined quietly, wrapping his arms around the Italian's middle from behind and resting his chin upon his shoulder. "_Please_ go… I'll miss you so much if you're not there…" He whimpered. As soon as he was held, Romano let out a quiet cry, eyes widening with surprise and his face flushing at the sheer intimacy of the action. Oh, God, not again. He gasped slightly for breath, heart racing, head reeling, and, oh, God, was Spain pulling him into his lap?

"B-but… I-I… Antonio…!" He breathed, not bothering to struggle against the other's grip, all the energy having been taken from him. Oh, Jesus, it was so damn hot in here…

Smiling slightly at the use of his name, a rare occurrence for the Spaniard, he mumbled, "Lovino, please… I want you… no, I _need_ you… So, please… come?"

Oh, God, did Spain even know the magnitude of what he had just said when taken out of context? It was almost laughable at how naïve he was, but at the same time, the experience it was putting Romano through was far from laughable. The other's words elicited quiet whimpers and gasps, useless struggles and fidgets and even the nearly silent, breathless murmuring of a name. Romano didn't like it one bit.

Her face adorned with the most devilish of knowing smiles, Belgium watched with endless amusement, and added congenially, "Yeah, Romano. Why don't you go to prom with Toni?"

Immediately, the Italian shot up and out of Spain's grasp – turns out he wasn't on his lap, that was just another figment of his imagination. God, this heat was really doing wonders on him. – and turned to stare incredulously at the blond, slamming his palms onto the table as he stood up in his rage.

"_WHAT?_" He cried, eyes blazing with fury, prepared to cause bloodshed if necessary. Belgium, however, seemed un-phased, and met his glare with an obviously feigned nervous explanation of, "Oh, a-and me, of course…!" Giving a darkly innocent smile, she tugged upon his shirt sleeve in order to force him to sit down, eyes gleaming mischievously. Romano gave a low growl, and shot a dark look in return.

"I just wanna see my darling Toni happy, is all! And I _know_ that if you came to prom, he'd be delighted. Isn't that right, Toni?" Belgium crooned, giving the Spaniard a loving smile.

"Uh-huh!" Antonio nodded, grinning widely. "So," he said cheerily, turning towards Romano, who was still fuming. "You'll come to prom, right…? Right…?" God, again with that damned smile… Sighing dejectedly, Lovino looked away, shifting his gaze over to the Belgian, who was also grinning imploringly, eliciting a quiet snarl.

"Ugh… _fine_…" He hissed, flushing angrily and looking away. Damn it, he hated accepting defeat. As soon as the word escaped his mouth, however, he was greeted with two very loud, very exuberant cheers.

"YAY~! LOVI'S COMING TO PROM!" Belgium squealed, jumping up in her seat and giving a triumphant fist-pump.

"You will? Yay! Oh, Lovino, I love you!" Spain cried, once more capturing the Italian in a tight hug, one arm around his waist, the other cradling the back of his head. Immediately, Romano felt his breath catch in his throat at the shock of the embrace, heart picking up its pace at the intimacy of it all, but as soon as _those three words_ escaped Antonio's mouth, all conscious thought was lost to him.

Did… d-did Antonio just say he… he _loved_ him? I-I mean… it wasn't like he _meant_ it or anything, it was just like… like… like friends, yeah! He loved him like a friend…! But… even so, just the fact that it was said at all sent Romano into a downward spiral of confusion, because, for some reason, it made his heart skip a beat and made the strangest of feelings creep into his mind… joy. Joy? But… why would he be happy about that? He had no reason to be. If anything, he should be angry, or disgusted. Men shouldn't feel that way about each other… right?

However, Lovino was given little time to recover from his sudden shock, not dissimilar to being thrown into an icy lake, for he was released from his hug and left to fend for himself. Gasping for air, his friend's celebrations fell upon deaf ears, for all he could focus on was why in the world the Spaniard affected him so. Every day, with infuriating frequency, it seemed as though Antonio could make his heart race and his face flush for some reason or another. But, the question was… _why_? It was something that Lovino absolutely hated thinking about, for his least favorite questions were the ones without answers, especially the ones he asked himself.

The rest of the day, in comparison, went by rather smoothly, save for Spain doing the inevitable and making Romano blush and get angry, and then proceeding to feed the flames by calling him 'cute'. Throughout his classes, Lovino would find his thoughts flitting back to Antonio's words, especially those damned _three words_, and his focus would be lost. However, he brushed it off, calling himself foolish and idiotic for even considering the obvious connotations in the first place – that Spain actually _did_ love him. It was preposterous, men weren't supposed to love each other, and… b-besides, who confessed that in the middle of the lunch room over something so trivial? It was ridiculous! And, I-I mean, not like Lovino felt the same way or anything, not in any way, shape, or form. Nope. He hated the Spaniard, in fact. He wasn't going to prom to make him happy, but because of peer pressure. Yeah, peer pressure. Now he had something else he needed to discuss with the principal – those fucking air conditioners _and_ negative peer pressure. This would certainly be a lively conversation.

The day, however, eventually came to an end, as it was prone to do, and good God, how Romano was thankful. Just what he needed, hours of homework to take his mind off of everything that had happened. He just hoped Spain wouldn't text him again… ugh. Why'd he ever give the bastard his number, anyway? Oh, yeah, Belgium had given it to him. Well, whatever. He could technically block him, but that took too much effort.

As he packed his bag at his locker, Lovino once more rejected Antonio's daily offer to walk home with him, even though their houses were certainly far away from each other, though the Spaniard always brushed it off with a smile, as though to say, 'Maybe tomorrow, then.'

Having gotten his things, Romano started the trudge down the stairs, headed to meet his idiotic younger and hopefully drag him away from that damned potato bastard. Along the way, however, he encountered a pleasant surprise – Belgium, leaning against the wall, as though waiting for someone.

"Hey, Belgium!" He called, giving a wave. Hearing her name, the blond's head snapped up, scanning the crowds for a moment before seeing Romano and grinning. "Hey, Lovi." She responded, though her voice seemed to contain less of its usual spark.

"What're you doing here? Aren't you gonna go home…?" The Italian questioned, tilting his head slightly in confusion. Everyone else around them was headed eagerly out of the school except for her, who appeared to have made herself quite comfortable, for clutched within a hand she held a bottle of Diet Coke.

"Home?" The Belgian questioned, as though having never heard the word before. However, after a moment, her eyes widened with realization, and she gave an airy laugh.

"Oh, _home_! Yeah, uh… um, I have… detention! Yeah, uh, teach caught me with my phone… again." She stammered through her explanation, eyes glancing shiftily around as though trying to figure out what words to say. Finishing her sentence, she gave another airy laugh, the kind of laugh you gave when you were trying to lighten the mood by telling a lame joke.

"Oh, uh, well…" Romano began, glancing down to his feet before looking up at one of the many clocks hanging in the hallways. "Shouldn't you get going…? Detention starts at 3:45, and it's already 3:39…" He suggested, his words causing the blond to suddenly leap into action.

"Oh, haha, yeah, well, uh, I gotta go! Detention!" She babbled, cocking her head to one side and sticking her tongue out as she sneered the word 'detention', voice reeking of fabrication. "Uh, talk to you later, Lovi! I'll text you!" And with that, she grabbed her bag, tossed her Diet Coke into the nearest trash can – though it appeared as though she had only taken about a sip from it – and darted off, presumably to detention.

Well, to say that was weird was an understatement. Romano watched where she left with confusion, finding her behavior to be utterly baffling. Why had she been so… airy and… well, fake-sounding? She sounded so… so… _blond_.

Oh, well. Not like he could do anything about it… Shifting his backpack's weight to the opposite shoulder, Romano easily made his way outside, for most of the other students had already left, and found his brother, chatting excitedly – as usual – with Ludwig. After a few minutes of convincing him to leave, consisting mostly of:

"C'mon, Feliciano, let's _go_."

"Ve, alright! Bye-bye, Ludwig! I'll miss you~!"

"O-oh, um… I… I'll miss you, too…"

"Really? Oh, I'll have to call you later, then! That way we won't have to be lonely!"

"Damn it, Feliciano, can we leave already?"

"Just a minute, fratello! And-and… d-do you mind helping me with my homework over the phone…? I don't really understand math…"

"Ugh. You really should be studying it yourself, but… I guess so."

"Feliciano, I'll leave without you!"

Etcetera, etcetera. Once they were on their way, however, Feliciano directed his babbling at _him,_ much to Romano's annoyance. God, he would rather listen to Spain drone on than his little brother… all he ever talked about was pasta and Ludwig, pizza and Ludwig, gelato and Ludwig! It made him sick.

Coming home, he tore himself away as quickly as possible, shouting a quick greeting to his father, Rome, who was busy watching football – or, as that Alfred kid called it, _soccer_ – before darting upstairs to work on clearing his mind of his least favorite thing, Spain, with another one of his least favorite things – trigonometry. It seemed like a fair trade.

He worked until dinnertime, which was spaghetti bolognese, as all Tuesdays were, and after eating, went back upstairs to rot his mind some more. Around 8, he checked his phone to see if Belgium had texted him, saw several messages, realized they were Spain, and ignored them. He then relaxed until he decided he should shower, which he did. His plan to clear his brain of anything Spanish failed, however, because, God damn it, why did the fact that he was in the shower just make it even harder and harder to ignore all that had happened? Ugh.

Around 10, his brother came bounding into his room, then bounded right out, because, God damn it, how was it even possible for one person to forget to put on any clothes for every night of their lives? He returned wearing a long T-shirt, which Romano guessed was better than nothing, and proceeded in talking about something that – surprisingly – didn't have anything to directly do with the German. But, judging by the subject matter, it wasn't difficult to guess.

"S-so, fratello…" Feliciano stammered, face flushed with embarrassment as he knelt upon his brother's bed, legs spread disgustingly far apart. God, that shirt needed to be longer… or maybe he could just _put on some fucking pants_.

"Wh-what does it mean… wh-when you tell someone th-that you love them…?" The younger managed, and Romano very nearly slapped himself on the face. Oh, God. Not _this_ discussion, not _now_, not when he had more important things to think about, like what the hell was going on with this Spain deal.

"Well…" Lovino sighed exasperatedly, trying to come up with an explanation that was short and sweet. "It depends on who you say it to, obviously… if you say it to a family member, like… if I said it to you right n-"

"Say it, fratello!" Feliciano squealed, bouncing up and down excitedly. "Tell me you love me!" Flinching and wincing at his brother's very loud interruption, Lovino gave a huff and growled, "Okay, I love you, now shut up and listen, damn it!"

Smiling blissfully at having gotten his way, the younger Italy settled down to hear his older brother's words of wisdom. However, if he knew about the other's strife, he probably wouldn't have asked him this particular question.

"Alright, when you say it to a family member, it doesn't mean anything romantic…" He spoke slowly, ensuring that his less-than-intelligent brother understood. "Usually." He added as an afterthought, remembering some freaky stories that Alfred kid had told during Sex Ed about people in America that fucked their siblings and had three-headed crotchfruits for kids. Across the room, Natalia had broken a pencil in fury.

"If you say it to a friend… well… s-sometimes, it means something romantic, as in, like, 'I want to be in a relationship with you, I want to kiss you, and have babies with you.'" It was that exact moment that Rome decided to walk the hallway past his son's room, and, catching a glimpse of the two boys on the bed and hearing only the latter half of Romano's phrase, was certainly caught off-guard. Well, that was certainly… er… special. Well, not much he could do. Kids these days were certainly… expanding the reaches of their comfort zones. Oh, well. At least they couldn't have three-headed crotchfruits for kids. Now, Rome decided, back to downloading porn.

"But… at other times…" Romano fumbled slightly over his words, face flushing as he considered what it was he was trying to convey. If the former was what Spain meant, then… Oh, God, no, that was disgusting! Besides, men couldn't have babies…! Ugh, okay, back to the subject matter – educating your younger brother on the bare basics of Sex Ed.

"Other times, it just means… 'I care a lot about you. We're really good friends, but I don't like you in a romantic way.' Girls sometimes say it to each other, when they're just really close friends…" He explained, and Feliciano nodded in understanding.

"Oh, okay… okay, I get it! Thanks, fratello!" He cried, flinging his arms around his brother's neck, eliciting a cry, and planting a quick kiss on his cheek before leaping off the bed and giving a congenial wave from the doorway.

"Now I know just what to do with Germany! Buona notte!" He gave a quick salute before skipping back down the hallway to his room. Lovino stared incredulously, hand clapped over his now warmed cheek due to the kiss, eyes wide with confusion. What… just happened? Ugh, whatever. Forget about it, Romano, just forget that ever happened.

Flopping back onto his bed, the Italian flipped his phone open to check his messages. It was 10:06, and he hadn't heard from Belgium yet. How odd. Deleting the 5 texts from Spain, Romano was pleasantly surprised to see a message from his blond friend, which read,

_Hey! ^^; Sorry it took so long for me to text you… my parents kind of, um, chewed me out for that whole detention thing…_

Scowling, Romano hit the button to reply, and tapped out,

_No problem, but… what was the deal with you today? You were acting all weird…_

Waiting patiently, he got his reply not long after. It said,

_Oh, um… just had some things on my mind, is all. ^^; Like the prom and detention and homework and stuff…_

Sighing with annoyance, Romano doubted he would ever get an honest answer out of her about this, since it was obvious that there was _something_ making her act weird. But, he decided it would be less wasted time and effort if he dropped the subject entirely. He wrote,

_Oh… okay. So, what'd you do this afternoon, besides rot away in detention?_

Moments later, he got a response, and read it eagerly. Belgium was prone to getting into some sort of mischief, usually something funny, and Romano was always prepared to listen to one of her stories of what happened at Starbucks or what she saw out in front of the gas station. However, her response was very lackluster.

_Oh, nothing much. ^^; I came home, did my homework, got yelled at, and watched some show about personified elements, like fire and water and stuff. P: Pft. As if /that/ concept would ever catch on! Who wants to watch a show about inanimate things turned into humans? XD_

From that point on, the conversation went smoothly, Romano's initial suspicion fading as they discussed whatever came to mind. However, if he had known what it was Belgium actually _had_ been doing, things would certainly be going a bit differently…

* * *

C-c-c-cliffhanger? Yeah, you'll have to wait until the next chapter to learn about what it was Belgium was doing... I really didn't know where to make the stopping point, so I decided to just end it there. Hooray for bad transitions! Anyway, please review, it makes me very happy. 


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